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Chapter 1B- Death
*** Wednesday, January 15th, 1997 ***
Life went on. Laurie rarely had regrets about leaving either her old home or LA anymore. For the first few months varying states of emotion had overwhelmed her, but regret only resurfaced in connection to three things – her sister – her one friend – and her writing.. The pain of her memories kept her away from them- but not because they made her homesick. They were simply painful. All memories of low points in life are painful. She missed her sister - but there was nothing she could do about that. Even going back to her old life wouldn’t fix that hurt.
The only thing she missed from her dead life that she could remedy was writing for a reason. It felt amazing to let words flow onto a page and know they would have an effect. She missed that. But really, that was all. Laurie enjoyed her new life. She made a decent salary, had a nice job and a few friends. It wasn’t complicated. Complications were nasty- simple was best.
“Miss Smith?”
Laurie snapped out of her reverie, and hastily put down the magazine she was holding.
“Here.”
Laurie took the binder Shina was holding out to her.
“Oh. Thank you, Shina.”
The African American woman smiled. “You just look through that. I put together everything we had. There’s an awful lot in there- you didn’t narrow down your search very much.”
Laurie grinned. “I didn’t want to miss out on anyone.” She clutched the binder to herself and hurried out of the room, forgetting to say goodbye. She skipped the elevator and took the stairs, flying out the glass door and sort of bumping herself into her car. She shoved the keys in the ignition and dropped her purse on the floorboard.
Then she turned her attention to the book in her hands. It was a black binder, about an inch and a half size. On the front, in rather bold white letters, it stated ‘Profiles.’ That was all - no fanfare, no fancy lettering.
Her hands were shaking slightly. She flipped open the book and let out her breath. In front of her eyes was a page, covered by a page protector. It held two pictures, a list of statistics and a few paragraphs about the child in the pictures. Behind that page was another of the same type. In fact, all the binder held was adoption profiles. She carefully began to read through the first one.
Mikael Robert Stevens
7 years old, Birth date June 7, 1989
Brown hair, green eyes, 50 pounds, 4’1”
No known father, no known siblings, legally free of mother and grandparents for past two months
3 foster homes
2 potential adopters
Attention Deficit Disorder
Laurie half smiled at the pictures of him, before turning the page to the next child. This was a four year old girl, but her smile left when she saw the adoption statistics
No known father, no known siblings, legally free of mother and grandparents for past three and a half years
12 foster homes
0 potential adopters
Fetal Alcohol Syndrome
This child did not have a happy story. She continued to flip through the book, horrified at what she found. Mentally retarded children that had been in eight foster homes in the last five months, beautiful toddlers with no potential adopters, children who had never had a true home.
Suddenly her gleeful “shop” through the catalog lost some of its appeal. She shut the binder and placed it on the passenger seat, then began the forty-minute drive home. All her life she had just assumed that children lived in beautiful foster homes and were adopted almost instantaneously.
It was not a fairy tale where all the children went home happy. It was not a lovely system. Some of these children had spent their lives in too many foster homes to count. Some of these children had never known a parent’s love. Hundreds of them- thousands of them.
And she was only one person. She could only adopt one. It felt like less than a drop in the bucket. It felt like a drop in a bucket with no bottom. Her thoughts continued to chase in circles for the remainder of the drive.
*
Over the next few weeks she slowly went through the book, reading each profile - often more than once. Then she began the heart-breaking task of sorting through them. Every time she pulled a profile from the book to put into her “do not pursue” pile, she felt like she had been kicked in the gut. She had just taken the possibility of a loving home away from that child. It was incredible, the feelings of guilt, just by moving a piece of plastic covered paper.
Mikael was one of the first to go - he had two other potential adopters. Likewise, she winnowed out all children who had potential adopters - like blonde haired Jenni, or rosy cheeked Sam.
Next she removed the children who had only been legally free for a few months - and those that were soon to be legally free. Smiling Rose and solemn faced Andrea joined that pile. So many children, all special in their own way, and she hadn’t even met them. She made it halfway through the book over the next two weeks, slowly pulling children out and removing them from her life.
Shina had called a few times, asking if she found anyone she wanted to pursue. Every time Laurie had turned her down. She continued to work through the book - slowly, but surely removing children and putting them in her “do not pursue” pile. Next to go were all the completely healthy children under the age of three - those often got adopted very quickly. Jonathon and Kyle joined her pile. She memorized the names of every child she removed – why, she didn’t know.
By the time she had had the profile book a month she had a pile of 100 children and a binder of twenty-five children.
She continued to teach at the preschool - but started to see her students in a new light. Each of them suddenly became a story - one linked with statistics and facts. Robert - a foster adopt child - had been in three foster homes before his present and hopefully permanent one. Karen - given up for adoption by her teenage mother when she was born. Fetal alcohol syndrome. - adopted. All the children she worked with were either foster adopt, foster children, or children of teen mothers. All had stories like the ones in her book. Some of her students were in her book.
Seeing the children face to face struck her really hard. Even though she had tried to put stories to the faces and stats before, when she started to look at her own children it had really struck home. These were real children with real problems and real hopes and dreams.
Real. The word stuck in her brain, spinning over and over. Every night she’d go through her binder and remove a few more profiles. Occasionally Shina sent her a few of the plastic covered sheets in the mail, and Laurie would add them to her book.
But as the days continued to drag on, she still hadn’t found a child she felt was right for her. One day in mid February, she reached the back of the profiles. All of them were now either in her “do not pursue” pile or in her “pursued” pile. She was done.
She felt strangely let down. She had gone through all the children in her search group and had found no one.
*** Wednesday, February 26th, 1997 ***
No one. It seemed to be the story of her life. No one for her. No husband - not even a boyfriend. No mother who cared enough to stop drinking. No father who cared about anything. A sister who had had her faults - but was gone now. Men, scattered through her life - all liars, every single one. People she thought cared about her, who turned around and threw her hopes in her face. Over and over. No one for her.
She looked over her journal again. Men came and went through her life, but all of them were gone. None of them actually cared about her. All had used her. Even the attorney. Even her fiancé. Even her best friend. She hadn’t added to her journal in years. She wasn’t sure why she kept it. But suddenly she was struck by an urge to write.
Dear Journal,
I’m trying to adopt a child. I’ve been through every potential child under the age of ten available in the state of Washington. I still wasn’t able to find anyone. I can’t place my feelings. I loved every kid’s profile I saw, but somehow none of them struck the “right” chord. Maybe I’m not supposed to have kids. Maybe I’m not supposed to be happy. The way my life is going that would be a distinct possibility.
No, that’s not true. I’m happy. I just want to adopt…
~ L
*** Tuesday, April 8th, 1997 ***
Laurie was once again pulling goldfish crackers out of puppets. It had been a month since she had reached the end of the profiles. Shina had sent her a few more in the mail, but none had seemed right. It didn’t seem fair. She wanted to adopt a child and she couldn’t find one - not one out of the hundreds available. Ruth Ann walked into the room, leading a small child by the hand.
“Hi, Ruth Ann. What's up?” Laurie dumped the goldfish she was holding into the trash bin.
“Got a new student for you.” Ruth Ann glanced down at the girl she was leading.
“I’ve already got 18 kids.” Laurie protested weakly.
“So do all the other teachers.” Ruth Ann answered wryly.
“I’m new!”
“You’ve been here two years, and you’re good with kids.” Ruth Ann turned to leave. “She’s a real sweetheart, and she’s deaf.”
Laurie stared at the little girl, and the little girl stared back.
“I don’t even know her name.” She muttered to the now closed door. Then she turned her attention back to the girl standing just inside it. She was a small child, about three years old. She had a delicate face, pale skin - mottled by an ugly bruise above her eye - large brown eyes and ragged brown hair. Her clothes were dirty - green leggings and a red shirt, almost hanging off one shoulder.
Laurie stretched her hand out to the toddler, but the girl pressed herself into the corner, trying desperately to stay away from Laurie. Laurie moved a bit closer, but that only caused the child to squeeze her eyes shut and hunch over. Laurie began to talk to her, even though she knew she was deaf.
“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. C’mon, it’s okay. Have you ever been to preschool before?” She soft-talked to her, not caring what she said, just feeling the need to say something. She was glad the rest of her students were on the playground - it would be twice as hard to talk to the little girl if she had an audience.
She tried to remember some of her grade school sign language, but she wasn’t even sure if the girl in front of her spoke it. Oh, she remembered “name.” She tried signing it, but the child didn’t seem to know it. Frustrated, she moved the child away from the door. The girl stiffened reflexively but Laurie didn’t notice. She ran down the hall to Ruth Ann’s office.
“What’s her name?” Laurie asked, holding onto the doorframe.
“Huh?”
“The girl - what’s her name?”
“Oh, Abby.” Laurie breathed a word of thanks and headed back to her room. Abby was still where she had been placed. Suddenly Laurie realized another problem. How was she supposed to communicate with a deaf girl who didn’t even know sign language?
*** Thursday, April 17th, 1997 ***
Well, she had managed to make it through that day - and the ones that followed. Through a combination of sign language and physically doing what Abby was supposed to do, Laurie made herself understood. The little girl hid in a corner for most of the time, her eyes peeping timidly from around her hands every so often. Laurie let her be - she had 18 other students.
But now, now Abby was beginning to uncover her eyes a bit more often. Laurie had been taking a crash course in sign language in the evening and she revelled in teaching some of the signs to Abby. The little girl was bright- she picked up signs faster than Laurie did. They had conversations sometimes- halted stilting ones, but conversations nonetheless. It was Laurie’s goal to get Abby to smile. The little girl seemed so solemn - she had never once laughed or even grinned. Perhaps one day she would - who knew?
Feeling someone tugging on her jeans, Laurie turned around. It was Abby.
‘Do you have a family?’
Well, that was a question like a punch in the mouth. It was also a bit of a shock. Abby had never initiated a conversation before. How was she supposed to answer that anyway? She used to have a family, sort of. Did that count? Or was she supposed to answer about her present life? She went with a simple answer.
‘Yes.’
Abby’s face was downcast. ‘I don’t have a family. I live with Mrs. Carter.’ She paused a moment, then continued. ‘Do you have a mommy?’
Did she have a mommy? Was an alcoholic who didn’t really care about her offspring except to interfere with their lives considered a mother? Did Laurie consider her a mother? Did she want her to be a mother?
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have a daddy?’ Oh, lovely question. Her father cared about her less than her mother did. He ran from one blonde to the next, not even caring when his daughter graduated from college - never reading the paper. He didn’t even show up at her botched wedding.
She hadn’t thought about these issues in years. Nor did she really want to. She was very happy to lock up her past. It didn’t bother her. It was almost as if it didn’t exist. And now Abby was forcing her to look into it again.
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have a brother or sister?’ That one simple question sent Laurie over the edge she had been teetering on. Did she have a sister? That was an issue that had not been locked up and put away. You couldn’t simply put an topic like that into a file drawer and forget about it. That was one of the three issues she had not been able to forget about, Her sister, her friend and her writing. Everything else fit very nicely in the now locked file drawer of ‘OLD LIFE’- but her sister wouldn’t stay put away.
What do you say when your sister was murdered? Yes, I have a *dead* sister. No, I *don’t* have a sister. Yes, I *had* a sister. What was the proper response? Even thinking about it brought back waves of pain. Her sister, her friend - murdered. Murdered. The thought struck in her mind.
MURDERED!
It screamed at her. Her boss sent them to their death. He knew it wasn’t safe - but he wanted the story and he wanted pictures. Her sister had tagged along - now they were both dead. Murdered by a bomb planted by a gang. Murdered, dead, gone. It didn’t matter what word you used. It didn’t matter if you and your sister didn’t get along half the time.
She had loved her baby sister and had always wanted to protect her. The sister she had fought through her young life with. Her dearheart - though flighty - was there for her and loved her. And now she was dead. Because of a stupid decision. Dead.
‘No.’ The finality with which she shook her head stopped Abby from asking any more questions.
*** Tuesday, May 6th, 1997 ***
Laurie plunged the bear clip deep into her red curls. It was warmish, not raining, and she wanted her hair up off her neck. The doorbell rang at that precise moment, and she flew to answer. It was Anne; her car was idling in the driveway.
“C’mon Laurie! My car’s waiting.”
Laurie laughed and hurried out the door, carefully locking it behind her. She slid into the waiting car, lowering her sunglasses as she did so. Anne was one of her few friends, although she was somewhat of a partier and a drinker.
“I thought we could go down to BelSquare and shop around for a few minutes, and then go to the Cheesecake factory for dinner.”
“Sounds good. I’m dying for a bite of strawberry salad.”
Anne laughed. “You and your healthy desserts. I’m dying for a bite of double chocolate mocha cream pie.”
Laurie began to laugh herself. “Double chocolate? Do you know how nasty that is? I mean, it’s so sweet you could kill a pig with it.”
Anne retorted swiftly. “Yeah, but the pig would die happy!”
*
“So, did the pig die happy?” The two friends were wandering around the mall again, looking for summer clothes.
“Nope, the pig is quite content to live and continue to torment you with her unhealthy desserts.” Anne winked at her before pulling Laurie inside the Anne Taylor store. “Oh, isn’t this just the cutest shirt?” She held up a white casual blouse, perfect for the summer. Laurie scrutinized it.
“I don’t think it would survive a bout with your pie.”
Anne grimaced. “Nope, I ‘spose not. Guess I’ll have to abstain from my pig-like tendencies while I’m wearing it.” She plunked it in her shopping bag. “Y’know, Petrick would have a fit if he knew we were talking about his species in such a “vulgar way.” She put heavy sarcastic emphasis on the last two words, causing Laurie to break out in giggles again. Petrick was Anne’s rather overweight potbellied pig. He also happened to be the most spoiled animal this side of the Mississippi.
“What do ‘pig fits’ look like?” Laurie inquired innocently. Anne shot her an evil look and Laurie bit her lip, trying to keep from laughing out loud. She picked up another shirt, a sleeveless tee, also white. “I’d buy this, but it would never survive an instant at school. Even bleach doesn’t take out the stains I manage to put into my clothes there. I think there’s something in the air that makes stains set permanently.”
Anne nodded sagely. “It has to do with the gas.”
“Gas?”
“Y’know, the stuff they put in the air to make the kids hyperactive?”
Laurie couldn’t help it this time, she burst out laughing. “Oh, is that why they’re so crazy?” Anne nodded wisely, before bursting out laughing herself.
***Friday, May 9th, 1997 ***
‘Stop.’
It had been over a month since Abby had joined her class. Laurie and Abby both knew enough sign language to get by rudimentarily, as long as they didn’t go beyond simple two syllable words.
Abby put her hands on her hips. She didn’t need to sign the “why.”
‘It’s not nice to take blocks from Sally.’
Abby frowned.
‘Give them back.’
The little girl sulked, but did so.
Laurie smiled and handed her a doll. Abby took it, placated by the toy. She ran off to her special corner and began to give the doll a cookie.
Laurie looked on in amusement. ‘What are you doing?’ she inquired.
‘I’m a mommy. My dolly has a mommy.’
The simple sentence brought tears to Laurie’s eyes. Why didn’t such a sweet child have a mommy? It didn’t make sense. Just because she couldn’t hear…She smiled brightly at her before turning her attention was necessary at the finger painting station where mass chaos reigned.
Robert and Rachel had red and yellow paint all over themselves, over the floor, the wall. In fact, everywhere but the paper. She handed them a rag and stood over them as they wiped off their fingers.
Then began the tedious job of cleaning up the paint- and getting them to help her. It was school policy to try to get the children to help clean up their own messes. Something about “taking responsibility.” Laurie just thought it was a pain in the rear, and another way to make the teachers suffer. She could clean up messes so much faster by herself.
Rachel threw the rag on the floor. “No.” She said imperiously. She frowned at Laurie and tried to cross her arms across her chest.
“Yes,” said Laurie. “Or no cookies at snack time.” Rachel sulkily picked up the rag and began to scrub the floor, albeit halfheartedly. Laurie began to wipe down the walls; Robert looked on in glee.
“I no want cookies. Yippee!” He threw the bucket of paint towards the ceiling, splattering it all over everything within a six-foot vicinity, Laurie and himself included. She knew she shouldn’t have let Anne talk her into wearing the white shirt. Well, now it was a blue shirt. Make that a purple shirt. She caught the plastic tub as it hurtled back towards earth.
“Go to the corner.”
Robert went, cackling as he did. Rachel looked on in amazement. Laurie caught the glint in her eye. “No way young lady. Don’t even think about it.” Rachel gave an angelic smile, before turning the purple shirt to a brown one.
*** Friday, May 9th, 1997 ***
It had been three years. Three very long years. Years of hurt, frustration and anger. Years of pain. Years that would go on forever. He had given up. You could see it in the slump of his shoulders, in the quality of his work. You could see it in his cold coffee, in his shuffling stride. You could see it in everything. Hope no longer existed. He was finally ready to face that fact. He had given up.
